Carbon neutral
All turn
No car
but neutral

Carbon
Essence of life
and Helium's
son

10 May 2019

death is coming, it is a dark point on the horizon
it will be here, sooner than expected, the planet is dying
why are you preparing for a future, the future
why are you denying it is happening, sticking your head in the sand
going about, living carefree, when your children will suffer, millions will die

do you need a quatrain, a burning bush, to see the horror racing towards us
nostradamus didn’t see it, but we did, like a slow train wreck
the air will burn your lungs, the oceans scald your flesh
by the time you react, you will have reached the point of no return
your children are an army of dead men walking
their bodies catching up to their environmental fate
it is too late to cry, it is time to die

what will we do, how will we choose, who lives, who perishes
your cozy lives will disintegrate in social chaos as individual fight for survival
our former rules and norms will vanish, as the strong and ruthless vanquish
you will witness horrors, etched into your mind, re-dreamt every night

scream and cry, it could have been avoid, such is the tragedy of the commons
complacency of the masses, mass graves of the innocent
gods will die, civilizations will fall, as you huddle, shaking in a dark corner

She sits
Atop a myrtle bush
Wingless
She cannot fly
But sends out her desire
Her future dreams
Through the unsuspecting air
Her belief
In distant generations
Borne upon the breeze
Hope of the unseen
Messaged across the barren lands
And am I powerless?

We're turning the world
into a Frankenstein Earth.
We cannot exist, science
and nature, safely, healthily.
We cannot support our planet
and be there for it, with gentle hands
and the care we would, a dying bird
or a spider we do not want to crush.
The Earth wants blue skies, rain
and sunshine, it want's green fields
and animals roaming free, grazing
and ******* and dying in due time.
The Earth is dying inside out,
we are little minions of the fiends
harvesting the Earth.

On an early Monday morn
Into this world my mother bore me
Although I never asked her to
But still she bore me
Into a hospital
A patient
Out of the train
Onto the station
The light, the air,
The Decompression,
No wonder that my first impression
I can't remember,
My mother thought I had a temper,
The nurses watched my massive member,
They put me down as baby boomer
Yeah, I was born to be consumer
But when I'm in my old age
I hope to be if not the driver,
Then at least the passenger

Aren't we going somewhere?

On holiday, perhaps?
Where birds of paradise dance
In savage colours
And sing in dazzling trance,
Where man's institutions are far away,
Where banks don't feed on our flesh,
Away from roaring trucks with pigs
Set for slaughter,
Away from downtown Bangladesh,
Away from ugly neighbours
And their children,
Away into the sweet fresh air
With no wifi
No zombifying TV,
No bling-bling chavs with one beat one key one theme music,
Where the weather is tolerable
And the scam of social media is no more,
We will leave the choking fumes
And strange wars...
Except we won't,
Cause that isn't where we go.
Let's be realistic,
We like postmodern world
It's lovely masochistic,
It takes out minds off questions
That probe beyond statistics,
Questions we don't even know how to phrase,
But fools are always one step ahead,
Delays make them enraged baboons,
When I am in my old age
I expect to see banners on the moon
And clouds shaped by advertisers,
Robot womanisers
And insect appetisers,
New ways to use fertilisers
On human brains
Making us none the wiser
But great at analysing market value
And levels of offensiveness.
I hope you don't think that I'm implying
That you will have something to do with this.
I know you're all good people here..
It's the corporations, of course.
Those classical psychopaths:
Self interested
Manipulative
Always the best
They prefer not to compete with the rest
Nor accept responsibility,
They suffer no conscience
Feel no remorse
And present superficial versions of themselves
To the world,
To the good people
Who take on their traits
Day by day
Year by year
Generation by generation
Because .. you know ..
Market forces and ..
Hunger .. for .. something..
Progress something !...
..it's the right way!
So what would you like to change?
Is this really your pimple?
When I am in my old age
I would like to be simple
I'll have my special armchair
That will be the envy of all people,
And I'd like to hope that something will be done
About climate change
But for that Israel needs to cease to exist
As well as all the other countries,
Old and new,
And national symbolism must get relegated
To the domain of underwear, swimming trunks and bathing towels,
Where washing machines will eventually bleach it into oblivion,
And the world must become truly global,
Entering the space age
United under redefined humanity!
When I am in my old age,
I still expect to see insanity on a global scale,
People fishing in empty oceans
Sailing their way to French Polynesia
on raging 20 metre waves
only to find French Polynesia
somehow not there anymore..
I hope not to be a bore in my old age,
I hope nostalgia won't be classed as a
Disease
And heavily medicalized.
I hope suicide will be legal like bread
I hope my head won't have the texture
Of a woman's inner thigh,
I hope my neck won't look like an accordion,
I hope I won't be making involuntary noises
Every time I lie down,
And I hope to lie down between women's inner thighs
From to  time,
Yeah, I really hope this can be arranged
When I am in my old age
Even if I smell of old people
I hope the smell of old people will be ****
I guarantee it will get very messy
If they won't let me
Take my pension money out
all at once,
I intend to own the stage
Until my very last breath
When I am in my old age
I hope impending death won't make
Religious, or spiritual,
Whichever's worse..
When I am in my old age
I fully expect hats to be in vogue again
And smoking in airports
And free range drugs
When I am in my old age
Maturity will triumph
Over the teenage bugs
With naked ankles and baseball caps,
And the myth of youth will rightfully collapse,
And I will order and convincing martini,
Drive a convincing car,
Snap a convicting finger at the waiter
To the rhythm of swing played at the bar
Somewhere close to the equator
On some not-too-distant star
I will be my own dictator,
I'll be my own tsar
And all will be jolly!
Apart from all this
I really have no worries.
So let me get drunk and let the world laugh
For there is a remedy for everything
But death
(and burning cathedrals)
And as long as we are laughing
We do not weep
About the roses that we picked
That even the sweetest showers
Won't make grow again.

The walrus lacks
a rudimentary understanding

of the relationship
between seasonal temperatures

and the amount of sea ice
generated annually

in the northern hemisphere,
and cannot formulate

even a basic hypothesis
that might draw a link between

the lack of sea ice and
a massive surge in coastal overcrowding

among those of his own kind.
Nor could we expect the walrus

to comprehend that
this overcrowding has become so severe that

many walruses are continually driven
to seek out higher and higher ground,

and may suddenly find themselves
precariously perched atop the tall, frozen, rocky cliffs

of the Russian arctic coast,
hundreds of meters above the sea,

as their pinniped flippers
lose traction, and the rocks and gravel

beneath them give way
under their considerable bulk.

It would be a bridge too far
for us to expect

that the walrus might understand
the anatomy of even his own eye

such that he would know
that the curvature of its lens

is well-suited for underwater vision,
but is, in fact, maladapted

for making spatial judgements
while on land.

And yet,
we are aware of all of these things,

of this horrifying confluence of circumstances
for which we’re at least partly to blame,

and from which the walrus
now finds himself unable to escape.

And we watch it all unfold silently,
so passively:

those hulking ruins

as they tumble down
the cliff faces,

one by one,

wild-eyed,
terrified,

bewildered and breaking
in their final moments.